


On Impermanence: Phantom Dennis

by viggorlijah



Series: On Impermanence [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viggorlijah/pseuds/viggorlijah





	On Impermanence: Phantom Dennis

_"If we lived forever, if the dews of Adashino never vanished, if the crematory smoke on Toribeyama never faded, men would hardly feel the pity of things. The beauty of life is in its impermanence. Man lives the longest of all living things... and even one year lived peacefully seems very long. Yet for such as love the world, a thousand years would fade like the dream of one night."_

_Kenko Yoshida, Essays in Idleness (1330-1332)_

* * *

 

She looks in the mirror, checking her lipstick before she leaves. A tiny smudge in one corner and he floats a tissue to her. She grabs it with a smile, murmurs "Thanks, Dennis" and dabs her lips perfect.

"I'll be back about seven, might have a date tonight. See you!"

The door closes. Silence fills the apartment. Then a rustle as the used tissue is crumpled and dropped in a wastebin. A window creaks as it opens a little for the breeze. The kitchen radio flips on and the stations slide back and forth, settling on KRC-Fifties.

It's a beautiful day and Dennis has laundry to do. Whites in one pile, coloureds in another, handwash in a third. He's lucky that Cordelia managed to find a cheap washer and dryer, or he'd have to sneak everything downstairs. Out of the apartment, everything gets harder. The air thickens and laundry in the basement used to leave him exhausted for the day.

Now he sets a load on and starts cleaning the breakfast dishes. They're low on oranges and he makes a note on the fridge pad. It's Thursday, so the bathroom needs to be scrubbed and if she has a date, that means clean bedsheets.

Elvis comes on. He loves this song. Used to have his hair cut like Elvis. Cordelia says the music's still good, but the hair's gone.

He decides on the green sheets with the blue pillowcases. There's a flowerstall just outside the building, and if he's quick, he'll be able to lift a couple of stalks, arrange them on the bedside. White roses in that pretty vase she bought last week.

By four o'clock, he's finished the housework for the day. Now he turns the TV on, settles near the table in front and starts in on her filing. One of these days, Cordelia threatens, she'll get a computer and teach him how to go online. For now, he's pretty happy with pencil and paper. Bills to write, bills to pay, checking the numbers here and there. A stack of emails from David Nesbitt and he reads them carefully, looking between the lines. Sometimes Nesbitt calls and Delia listens for long periods, mm-mming and taking notes. In the beginning she would roll her eyes and signal to Dennis to knock on the door for her, but now she just listens.

The soaps give way to sitcoms and Dennis catches up on his reading. Vogue, W and the gossip rags. Wesley's in one of the photos with his girlfriend, Virginia. He clips it carefully and puts it under a paperweight with the emails. He likes Wesley. The girl's quite pretty, but Dennis has noticed more since he died. Everybody's got a bit of aura clinging to them except for the dead, and Wesley's is like fogfire, all green wisps and crackles. When Angel is near, it turns to fireworks, little sparks radiating around the empty space of the vampire.

Seven o'clock comes and he watches from the window. Gunn drops her off, Cordelia jumping out of the truck's cab, still yelling back at him, orange goo on her pristine white blouse. Another workday. Gunn leans out, and Dennis floats as close as he can to look. He's never seen the man close up in daylight, only candlelight. He looked good, wrapped round Cordelia, but he hasn't been back since. Dennis eavesdrops and there's nothing but friendly banter between them.

Finally, she waves goodbye and heads inside.

She rushes through the door, flinging her bag and clothes around. "Start the shower, will you? I need something short, something flirty but not too sexy. Any phonecalls?" He lifts the phone and shakes it slightly, their signal that there's at least one message.

Her acting teacher, her mother and someone she picked up at a club. While she listens, he picks up her clothes, puts the blouse to soak in the kitchen sink, and lays out underwear and a pale purple dress with strappy shoes. She walks past and he unhooks her bra, runs his fingers like a breath of wind across the scratch on her shoulder, a mute query. She shakes her head. "Angel did that slamming me out of the way of a demon. Nothing major."

She peels off her underpants and steps into the shower. There's not much room in the stall with her, so he hovers above, holding her hair out of the way of the spray, untangling it with his fingers. She talks as she soaps, scrubs and washes. Sacrifice gone wrong, a possible lead on a demon-smuggling ring. She turns the water low and he lets her hair drop. With the spray, he can shape what might be a hand, the feel of a wet hand pressing on flesh. She leans into the shower and he kisses her gently.

Then she's brushing her teeth while he dries her off, snapping on earrings while she puts on make-up, and she's out the door. "Back by eleven, he won't stay the night. Bye, Dennis!" She blows an air-kiss and leaves.

The TV flips on again but he drifts around the apartment, not paying attention. He might eat; he feels hungry although he knows that's his imagination. If he wants, he can take something and burn it to ash, sniff the smoke and remember what that tasted like. Messes up the kitchen though, and he's not exactly hungry for food. For something else, something he doesn't have the words for.

He wasn't a smart guy when he was alive. Just an ordinary kid, really. Living with his mom longer than most, but he was her only child, and after his dad left, how could he? Leave his mom stuck in this tiny apartment all by herself? Which worked out ironic, because here he was. Stuck in the apartment while his mom was off wherever psycho-parents went.

He thinks about that pretty often. Where his mom is. He'd been pissed with her the first few years, but after a while, it had been just the two of them in that apartment, and she was his mom. Aside from when she went crazy over a new tenant, they got on okay. They drifted through the decades, spying on the neighbours, having dinner together just like when they were alive. Pretty much the same as today, except he does the housework now.

He wonders where she's gone, if she's still watching him, still out there. He hopes so. The rest of the time, he wonders why he's still here. His murder's been avenged, even if it was forgiven a long time ago.

These days, he figures it's for Cordelia.

Someone has to take care of her. Worrying every time she steps out of the door, relieved only when she comes back unharmed. He's made Wesley promise that if anything happens, they'll arrange for Dennis to go on a lump of masonry to the hospital.

Eleven o'clock and she comes in, giggling with wine and high spirits. Her date follows, flushed and unable to take his eyes off her as she goes around the flat, pouring coffee and dimming the lights. Dennis sits next to her on the couch, running his hands up and down her back in slow circles as the date works up the courage to kiss her. She's got goosebumps already and bright sparkling eyes. He knows she came closer to death this afternoon than she told him. She leans over and kisses the date, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him down onto the couch.

Twenty minutes to the bed, and he floats on ahead, pulling back the sheets and lighting the candles. Then he waits. Waits and watches.

Cordelia slides herself along the date's body, both of them lean and pale. They lie side by side and she hooks her leg around his hip, draws him closer. There's barely a breath of space between them. Dennis stretches out behind her. Listens to her breathing. Her heartbeat climbs, pounds and falls. She stretches and he wishes he could possess people, not simply touch them. He wants to be inside her, in her, to be Cordelia, to be the nameless men she brings to bed.

But when she's come and she's curled up around the date who's still moving towards his own end, she looks up at him. Her mouth shapes his name, "Dennis," and he blows a kiss across her face. Her eyelids flutter shut and she smiles sweetly.

That's when he thinks of killing her. A pillow while she sleeps. Drag the body into a cupboard for just long enough.

He understands his mother now.


End file.
